Sentiment
by insanely lucid
Summary: But she is The Woman, and she is not known for being "sentimental," so the chances of her being defeated in this game is zero.


So, this is just basically "A Scandal in Belgravia" in a sort of Irene POV...

* * *

She never begged in her whole life, bargained maybe, but never begged. Begging is for the weak, because begging comes with sentiment; a chemical defect found on the losing side, or so he says. But she is The Woman after all and she is not known for being "sentimental," so the chances of her being defeated in this game are zero.

He would be easy to manipulate, he is a virgin after all or at least according to Jim. And she knows that those kind of people readily begs for release when pushed to the brink. But when she first saw him, she doubted that he never had anyone before, and by "had anyone" she meant it in a not so delicate way. Those cheekbones of his are almost begging to be slapped by her, and his eyes looked like molten steel, only colder. She was sure that he is not human. For her it looked like the odds are turning in her favor. Of course, you have to be really interested in something for it to work out right? And interested she was.

She started their game; she would text him, just random little things that popped out of her mind but mostly asking him out for dinner. He would ignore it, he reads them but he never replies, which was unusual for him, as John had said, Sherlock is Mr. Punch line and he would even try to outlive God just to have the final word. This irks her to no end; no one ever ignores The Woman.

* * *

She was using him, only using him for her own gain and nothing else. She says this to herself repeatedly like a mantra. She must not show how much she wanted him, need him, or else the game is over. She always try to get physically close to him as possible, because that's the only way she can reach him. Only John has the ability to reach him mentally and emotionally, she was almost jealous of this. She would love to have him begging for her mercy. Twice.

She kneeled in front of him, "Let's have dinner"

"Why," he asked. "Might be hungry," she smiled.

He took her hand and moved his face nearer to hers, she smirked. Maybe he was the one losing after all. "Why would I have dinner if I'm not hungry?" he asked.

She noticed that his voice was huskier than before, and that his eyes are more captivating up close. His minty breath on her skin gave her goose bumps, and had her heart pumping faster. She was fortunate enough to possess an enormous amount of self-control, if it happened that she did not, she might have done something really foolish that will result in her losing badly.

"If it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?"

* * *

She was talking with the older Holmes. She knew that Mycroft always had a soft spot for his brother, and blackmailing him that telling his masters that his biggest security leak was his little brother had him almost begging at her feet.

"Here you are the dominatrix that brought the nation to her knees, nicely played."

She smiled, she won the game, she could almost picture herself doing a victory dance the moment she's alone by herself, although a part of her was a bit unhappy for reasons she can't explain.

"No, just no." Sherlock looked at her coldly, her heart skipped a beat. Her hands grew cold, and a dreadful feeling spread over her body.

* * *

"You."

He knows. And it scared the living daylights out of her.

She laughed mockingly at him, "Look at the poor man, you actually think that I'm interested in you?" she smiled at him as if her heart is not hammering inside her chest. She must convince him otherwise, she must steer him away from his present theory.

"Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective with the funny hat?"

"No."

He moved nearer and took her hand as a lover would. If they were in a normal situation, she would probably leap up and down in happiness, but no, nothing is ever normal between them.

"Because I took your pulse." Her blood ran cold; she remembered that night, one of her most treasured memory ruined. She thought she deciphered him, she thought that somehow he was interested in her.

He moved his mouth closer to her ear and whispered to her in a voice huskier than his usual.

"Your pulse, elevated. Your eyes, dilated."

He pulled away holding her phone. She was just watching him; her tears are now starting to fall.

He started talking about love and its basic chemistry but she was only half listening. In her mind all she can think of is her own body betraying her. He's right; she was infatuated with him, falling in love even. But she chose to break his heart.

"I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage, thank you for giving me the final proof." He typed the password to her phone, her heart.

He was right, she could have just put in any random number and she could have walked away from here victoriously, but no. She was being sentimental. She put in his name.

He handed the phone to Mycroft. Her lifelong work, wasted. And the only man she ever loved is walking away from her.

"Do you want me to beg?" she asked, she was desperate.

"Yes." He looked at her without any trace of emotions. This broke her heart more; the fact that Sherlock was shutting himself off to her was more heartbreaking and more painful than anything she ever experienced.

"Please, you're right, I wouldn't even last six months." Without my protection and without you, she thought. He was the first man that ever reduced her to tears and the first man who captured her heart and mind completely.

"I'm sorry about dinner."


End file.
